First Dates
by patagonia
Summary: First dates, love and sex sometimes don't occur in the correct order. But sometimes, that just doesn't matter.


Obligatory Author Note: I don't own Harry Potter and reviews make me happy.

**First Dates**

"Sometimes I just have no idea what that man is all about. I don't know if he's trying to be funny and I should laugh at him, or if he's just, you know, an idiot," Hermione's date said, with an open infectious laugh. They walked slowly, often bumping into each other, letting their hands and arms brush up against one another.

"I know," Hermione giggled, "I never know if I'm coming or going with him. He reminds me of a crash – you don't know if you're going to escape unscathed, or spend two months recovering from the experience in St. Mungo's."

He laughed loudly, throwing his head back.

"I'm so glad that I don't have to work with him. I'd probably have a breakdown within two weeks," Hermione continued.

"Somehow I doubt that, Hermione. In any case, he seems to like you," he said, gently ribbing her.

"Stop it. It's not funny," Hermione scolded, but her laugh rather undermined her admonition. "I had no idea he enjoyed my company so much."

"It's just because you're such a captive audience, not to even mention the fact that you're young and beautiful."

"Well, I don't know what to say to him. Half the things he says make no sense whatsoever," Hermione said, completely avoiding that idea that her date thought her beautiful. It did please her though.

They laughed even more at the antics of an incompetent Department Head at the Ministry of Magic. They exchanged a few happy glances with each other and he took her hand and led her down her hallway. Suddenly the happy mood became slightly less so when the couple found themselves in front of Hermione's flat.

Hermione fumbled for her keys in the vast recesses of her bag.

"Well, this is me," Hermione said, with just a touch of nervousness. First dates were generally a little awkward, but this one had proved to be an exception. Her date had been all a woman could ask for – he was courteous, he laughed at her lame jokes, he seemed genuinely interested in her and he didn't seem to be harbouring any major psychoses. Nevertheless, Hermione had always found the good-nights of first dates to be particularly unnerving – expectations and all that.

He took her hand and smiled. He had a very open, honest smile. Hermione had to admit to herself that he really was a rather attractive man, in a plain sort of way.

"I had a really great time tonight, Hermione," he said, still smiling.

"I had a really great time too, Simon."

"May I see you again sometime?"

Hermione paused only a moment before replying. "Yes, I would like that," she said and cursed the blush that rose in her cheeks. Really, she was far too old to be blushing because a man was interested in her.

"I'll floo you sometime then," Simon said quietly as he leaned in. His soft hands cupped her face. Hermione held her breath and closed her eyes in anticipation. He pressed a very gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Good-night, Hermione. Thank you for a wonderful evening," Simon whispered as his lips lingered against her skin. His touch was comforting and it had been so long since any man had wanted her that Hermione found herself leaning into him and catching his robes in her hands. For the briefest of moments, she considered inviting him in, not because she wanted him, but because he wanted her. However, her common sense won over, as it generally did.

With another lingering kiss on her lips and a soft caress across her jaw, Simon left Hermione at her door with a promise to floo her the next day. Hermione gave him a coy little smile when he turned to flash a grin at her over his shoulder.

Hermione sighed happily as she unlocked the door to her flat. Not bothering to light any lamps, she tossed her bag and keys on the table. Simon really was a good sort of man – he wasn't the kind of man who swept women off their feet and Hermione certainly hadn't found herself overwhelmed in her attraction to him, but she could find herself quite content to pursue a relationship with him. After all, she was getting older, all her friends were now married and some had children. She couldn't keep waiting for that one perfect man who completed her so perfectly.

In the darkness of her lonely flat, her smile slowly faded. Simon was a wonderful man, but he really wasn't the man for her – he'd been just a touch too deferential, he had openly acknowledged that he never read anything but the Daily Prophet and Merlin forbid, he was actually a few years younger than her. Hermione shook her head – it was no good to think about such ridiculous things. She really shouldn't try to talk herself out of the potentiality of a great relationship. She was tired of being alone and she was sure that being with Simon would be better than being alone.

"I don't want you to see him again," said a low, hard voice.

It was impossible for Hermione to remember her response to the voice of an intruder in her flat. Being in various dangerous situations with Harry and Ron, her first instinct was to get her wand, which she did with amazing celerity.

"Don't come any closer," Hermione hissed, searching him out with her wand. In no more than a second, she trained her wand on someone standing with his back to her, looking out the window. He was clearly a man and he clearly looked completely at ease in her flat. Hermione could could not make out any of his features through the shadows. She cursed herself for not noticing him when she entered.

The man turned around and took several steps until the street lamp outside illuminated his face. Surprise and not a little trepidation coursed through her when she recognized him.

"Fuck, Charlie," Hermione said as she pocketed her wand. "You scared me half to death." Her heart pounded against her chest – she couldn't tell if it was from her earlier fright or the appearance of Charlie.

Charlie wasn't wearing his usual good-natured smile. His face was set in hard lines and a muscle twitched in his jaw. He simply regarded her, watching her as though he hadn't seen her in years, which was ridiculous of course, because they'd only last seen each other a couple of months ago. If Hermione didn't know better, she would think that there was some kind of hunger in his eyes. The intense scrutiny made Hermione rather uncomfortable.

An explanation for his sudden and rather sullen appearance was not forthcoming, so Hermione asked, "What the hell are you doing here anyway?"

That seemed to snap him out of his trance-like state and he stalked over to her. Hermione unconsciously stepped back, he looked almost dangerous.

"I told you, I don't want you to see him any more," Charlie said. Hermione could only respond to such a command about her personal life with indignation.

Hermione primly straightened her shoulders. "I really don't care what you want, Charlie." In an effort to conceal her shaking hands and avoid Charlie's gaze, Hermione stomped into the kitchen to make herself some tea.

Charlie had evidently followed her and he grabbed her wrist as she reached for the teapot. "He isn't good for you."

Hermione laughed derisively and yanked her hand out of his grasp. "And how would you know that? You don't even know who he is. And anyway, you haven't answered my question, what are you doing here?"

"I do know who he is, and he isn't good for you." Hermione had rarely seen Charlie so serious, so unwavering and so hard, not since the final battles with Death Eaters, when his concentration and energy had been so focused and so intense that she had silently thanked the Fates that he was on their side.

"Well that's my problem then, isn't it?" Hermione said, stepping away from him.

"You would be settling," he said, raising his eyebrow and fixing a cold smirk upon his face in some kind of silent challenge.

Hermione sighed in what she hoped was a dismissive way. "How do you know what I want?" Charlie opened his mouth to say something and then stopped himself.

"You know a lot less about me than you think you do," Hermione said with more bitterness than she had intended. He looked almost wounded at her statement. Almost.

"Probably true," he said as he paced in front of her. They said nothing to each other. Charlie paced and Hermione watched him pace. The surprise at seeing him had dissipated, and in its wake, Hermione felt confusion, which was something she simply couldn't abide in herself.

With nothing to say to Charlie, Hermione returned to making her tea – it was such a comforting ritual. Behind her, she heard the scrapping of a chair and could only assume that Charlie had found a place at her table. She could feel his gaze on her back and she did not like it.

Gathering two cups for tea, Hermione wondered what exactly Charlie was doing here and what he wanted from her. She had hoped he would come for her, had hoped that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but he had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with her. When he had coldly informed her he was going back to Romania and would not be returning for several years a few months back, all her hopeful anticipation had melted into nothing in one short moment. Her heart had not broken per say, but it had certainly . . . stalled. . . and ached. She wasn't sure if he'd ever had her heart, she had always held a bit of herself back from him, believing that he could never want her, but he'd certainly possessed more of her heart than any other man she had ever known. But he didn't want her, she reminded herself as she fumbled with the teapot – it wasn't as though she hadn't made him aware of her interest in him.

Hermione carried two cups of tea to her table and pushed one toward Charlie without looking at him.

"Thanks."

Hermione simply nodded. Absently, she ran her fingers along the smooth porcelain of her cup.

"How did you get in here anyway?"

"Wasn't hard. You need better security measures here Hermione."

Hermione said nothing and let the scene outside the window draw her gaze. It wasn't a particularly engaging scene – it was actually just the blank brick wall of the building next to her, but she didn't feel like she could look at Charlie at the moment.

"Hermione," Charlie sighed, "we need to talk."

For some inexplicable reason, Hermione couldn't tear her gaze away from that brick wall. "I don't think we have anything to say to each other, Charlie." After all, he had said all that needed to be said several months ago and she needed to hold onto her last remained shred of pride with all she had.

"Well then I'm going to talk and you're going to listen," Charlie snapped. She'd never heard him like this before. He was usually so easy-going. His irate voice drew her gaze. For the first time since he'd entered her flat, she took a good look at him. His hair was messy and looked as though it hadn't been washed for awhile, there were dark circles under his eyes, his clothes were wrinkled and dishevelled and he looked to have lost a bit of weight.

Charlie roughly pushed the chair back from the table and resumed his pacing in front of Hermione, occasionally running a hand through his dirty hair. Hermione could do nothing but watch him. A few times he stopped and opened his mouth to speak, scowled, and then continued pacing.

Finally, Charlie stopped his distracting pacing and stopped in front of Hermione's chair. Putting one hand on the table right in front of her and the other on the back of her chair, he leaned over her, completely surrounded her with his person. Hermione made to move away from, but he grabbed her upper arm and held her firmly in place.

"I don't care," Charlie said in the same hard voice he'd been using since he arrived.

Discreetly trying to pull her arm out of his grasp, Hermione said, rather exasperated with him, "You're not making any sense."

He smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. "It won't be the last time I'm sure."

Charlie wasn't frightening her in the way that she feared for her safety – Hermione had always trusted Charlie. But he was frightening her in the way that something was very obviously wrong with him. Regardless of the way he felt about her, Hermione still cared for him and wanted the best for him.

"Charlie, what's going on with you?"

Charlie responded by pulling her up from the chair straight into his strong embrace. Hermione gasped, but was too surprised to do anything but stand there, her arms pinned to her sides.

One of his hands had quickly tangled itself in her hair and cupped the back of her head, the other hand securely held her waist. His face was pressed against the crook in her neck.

"Charlie?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling only slightly.

"I don't care. I don't care. I don't care," he chanted quietly against her neck. He moved his head across her neck, his nose and forehead skimming her sensitive skin. His hot, erratic breath moistened her skin and Hermione felt oddly faint. She could feel his heart pounding and his chest heaving against her breasts. Never had they been so close to each other and never had she felt so weak in a man's presence, and he hadn't even kissed her.

Hermione did not want to give into him, because it could only end in heartache, but his body felt so good against hers. If she let this one opportunity pass, she knew she would regret it forever. She let her body relax against him and he groaned out her name. His hand almost immediately made it to her arse and he pushed her hips into his.

"Oh god, Charlie," Hermione whimpered, feeling his want against her. Months of frustrated desire and need welled up in her and she knew that she could deny him nothing tonight. She nuzzled her face against his, seeking his lips. Charlie didn't fail to accommodate her. He took possession of her mouth quickly. His teeth and tongue cut into her without apology. He sucked all the air out of her lungs as he claimed his dominance over her. It was as though he were trying to devour her with this one kiss. As Hermione's body grew weaker against his assault of her mouth, Charlie's body grew stronger and pressed her against him.

Finally releasing her mouth, Charlie pressed his forehead against hers.

"I don't care if it's only tonight Hermione. I don't care if you never want to see me again. I don't care if you don't love me. Just give me tonight. Please Hermione," he panted. Though her mind was foggy with desire, she could hear the pleading in his voice.

"What?" she gasped. His words didn't completely gel with his treatment of her a few months ago.

"I give up. I know you don't love me," he said, his voice breaking on the last word. He took a deep breath before continuing, "but I know you want me." He shifted their bodies, so her head rested on his shoulder. "I need you, even if it's just for tonight," he said, finishing in a whisper.

"I-I don't understand." Hermione couldn't quite grasp what Charlie wanted from her. She was far too distracted by the hand the kept running through her hair, and the thigh that had made its way between hers.

Charlie cupped her face and looked into her eyes as Simon had done earlier in the evening. "I'm willing to take what I can get from you Hermione. I wasn't – I'm not going to try and force a relationship on you. I just – I'll just take what I can get from you." Charlie looked positively wretched as he said those words. She had never seen him looking so . . . broken.

Hermione awkwardly extracted herself from Charlie's embrace – it was made all the more difficult because neither really wanted it to end. She stepped away from him and held her hand up as he approached her.

"You want a relationship with me?" Hermione asked, willing herself to stop trembling.

"Well yeah, but I know that's not what you want, Hermione. I know you just want-" he paused and clenched his jaw. "Listen, just give me tonight and I promise I won't bother you again. You can go to your squirrelly little Ministry employee and I won't bother you any more. Please Hermione," he said, reaching out his hand to her.

"I don't want him," Hermione whispered, her hopes rising with every declaration from Charlie.

"Then whoever, just. . . I need you Hermione. Please, just one night."

"Do you-do you care about me Charlie?"

"Care about you?" he almost shouted. Her ran both hands roughly through his hair. "Christ woman, I love you. . . but I know-" Charlie was unable to finish his sentence as Hermione had launched herself at him and showered his face with kisses.

"I love you too," she said, slipping her hands beneath his shirt.

Charlie's entire body stiffened. "What?" he rasped.

"I love you." This time, it was Charlie who pulled away from Hermione. He looked quite bewildered.

"You love me?" he asked, not quite believing her.

"Yes, I do." Charlie reached up to brush away a few tears that had unknowingly escaped Hermione's eyes. Hermione leaned in to kiss him, but Charlie pulled away.

"I think we need to talk about this Hermione."

"No, no talking. It's quite obvious that we have completely misunderstood each other. We'll talk tomorrow," Hermione said as she led him by the hand to her bedroom. She simply didn't think she could wait another moment for him to claim her.

"Tomorrow night, you are going to take me out to a fancy restaurant." She pulled him down on her bed. "And I'm going to order more food than I could possibly eat and a bottle of expensive wine." His hands had found their way up her skirt while he nipped and licked at her neck. His movements were much less frantic than they had been a few moments ago. He moved with assured possession now, and Hermione quite liked it.

"And then – oh god Charlie," she whined, as his fingers teased the peak of her breast "and then we'll talk."

Charlie didn't answer, but he situated his body above hers and recaptured her mouth in a tender, searching kiss. Hermione had little doubt that her first date with Charlie would far surpass her first date with Simon.


End file.
